


A Bouquet of Nettles

by flockofcrows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Rivals to Lovers, Warden Alistair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25031641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flockofcrows/pseuds/flockofcrows
Summary: Morrigan is on the hunt for Mythal's soul, Alistair finds himself becoming the leader of the surviving Wardens after Adamant, and the two of them are trying to shield Kieran from the world while getting tangled up in each other.
Relationships: Alistair/Morrigan
Comments: 22
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The fic takes place after DAI and technically Trespasser but before some of the various end credit slides come to pass.
> 
> I didn't want to start posting this until I'm done with The Fool Would Be King but I've been working on this novella-length monstrosity for more than a year now and I need to get it out before more information is published about DA4 that inevitably josses it to hell and back, at which point I'd lose my enthusiasm to finish it and none of it would see the light of the day.

Alistair sat under an oak tree, staring up at the overcast sky. His Warden duties had taken him back to Orlais, blissfully far away from Weisshaupt and the Warden Order still in turmoil. Howe had warned him the politics of Weisshaupt Fortress were cut-throat but nothing could have prepared him for the First Warden's apparent disregard for what the Order stood for.

It was good to be away from it all.

He sighed and moved to stand but he halted as pain shot up his side. He winced but pushed through it anyway. He was only a day's journey away from them at most and Morrigan had warned him they could only stay in the area for a short while.

A squawk sounded from above his head. A crow that was almost certainly not Morrigan perched on a gently swaying branch above the road, its wings fluttering impatiently. It squawked again and flitted to the next tree, looking back at him with deceptively clever eyes.

Alistair shrugged and adjusted the sword at his hip. Taking orders from a fussy bird wasn't the most humiliating thing he had done in his life. At least there was no one around to see it.

The foggy landscape blended into the ugly grey of the overcast sky but a small copse of trees stood out in the distance. The crow took flight and headed in that direction, circling back whenever Alistair fell too far behind.

The pain in his side was constant but nothing compared to some of the wounds he had been forced to tune out during battle. He shifted his pack to ease the pressure and quickened his pace, eyes trained on the trees he expected Morrigan to emerge from any second. She did not, not even when he reached the edge of the copse.

The crow landed high above on a dead, leafless branch of a tree, refusing to lead him any further. Alistair muttered a curse under his breath as he unstrapped the shield from his back, warily making his way farther into the small grove.

His footsteps sounded annoyingly loud and heavy to his ears but try as he might, he couldn't move any more quietly in his standard issue Warden armor. He unsheathed his sword, concentrating on his surroundings but he couldn't sense anything unusual.

The shadows changed and a small bird flew by him with an alarmed cry.

"I was not certain you would come."

His shoulders relaxed, then immediately tensed up again.

"Morrigan," he said flatly as he turned around.

She emerged from the shadows of the grove like a ghost, silent and dangerous, a calculating glint in her wolfish eyes.

"Your letters have been vague. I was starting to think you have changed your mind."

He huffed out a weak laugh and moved to strap his shield on his back again.

"I didn't want to give away where I was in case the letters got in the wrong hands."

A surprised look crossed her face as she began circling him.

"Cunning. That is new. It seems the Order has been good for you after all." 

She raked her eyes up his body. Alistair shifted on his feet, then slowly crossed his arms, hands clenched to fists under his biceps.

"Waiting for me in our camp." She stepped back, her expression more guarded. "I expect you to hold yourself to what we have discussed in our letters."

"Do you know me as someone who walks back his promises?" he asked wryly.

She studied him for a moment.

"Very well. This way, then."

She turned, her staff barely making any sound on the ground as she lead him deeper into the grove.

Despite his misgivings, Alistair's heart leaped at the promise of seeing his son again. They had agreed not to tell Kieran that he was his father. For all intents and purposes, Alistair was merely a family friend, someone from Morrigan's past who came by to catch up with them when he was in the vicinity. It simultaneously eased his mind and made him feel like a coward for further delaying his responsibilities but his fear of messing things up was too great to make him consider telling him the truth. A family friend he could be, someone kind and understanding Kieran might slowly warm up to.

"Do you still intend to help?" Morrigan asked without turning around, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"I said I would, didn't I?" he asked, mostly addressing his words to the back of her head. "But I'm not sure how I will be any more successful than the last time I tried to kill your mother."

"Killing her is no longer my goal," she said but fell silent, hesitating. "The Inquisitor claims to know that Flemeth is dead while Mythal survives. She refuses to tell me how she learned of this. I suspect 'tis because she drank from the Well of Sorrows but I cannot be certain."

"Wouldn't she be able to help then?"

Morrigan looked back at him over her shoulder, curiosity rather than contempt shining in her eyes. They had talked more than once back in Skyhold but Alistair still wasn't used to seeing her so... changed. He almost missed the old Morrigan, weird as that was to admit to himself; he didn't like feeling so out of his depth around her.

"She is under Mythal's thrall one way or another," Morrigan said. "As noble as her intentions may have been, I shall not approach her until I know for certain she isn't forced to betray me."

Alistair still wasn't quite sure he understood what had happened to them at the Well. He didn't keep in regular contact with the Inquisitor but ever since the Wardens at Adamant had been recruited into her forces, he had received sporadic updates from her. A simple courtesy, no doubt, but he appreciated it nevertheless, even though she seemed to put too much faith in him as the Wardens' supposed representative. He had pieced it together from her and Morrigan's letters that Flemeth was apparently some elven god of old but that just raised more questions than it answered.

"So what's the plan?" he asked as he stepped over a fallen tree, his boot skidding on the wet, mossy rocks.

"I intend to find out what became of Mythal. I do so for my own benefit but I imagine 'tis valuable information for the Inquisition's remaining agents as well," she said as she brushed aside some low-hanging branches and ducked behind an impenetrable-looking curtain of bramble.

Putting aside his reservations, Alistair followed after her.

Something started itching under his skin, a feeling too insistent to ignore. He looked around, eyes darting from ancient trees to carved, moss-covered standing stones, to the crows perching on the branches high above them, their eyes seemingly following their progress. He gripped the hilt of his sword harder and looked back at Morrigan's pale form effortlessly weaving her way through the lush undergrowth. It was then he finally realized it was her magic permeating the air all around him that seemed to be buzzing under his teeth. Wards, maybe a glyph, covering an impressively large area, if his Templar training was to be trusted. It made him wonder absently just how much stronger she had got since the Blight.

She led him among the trees for a while before a small fire and two tents came to view, carefully hidden in the depths of the grove.

It might not have been the first time seeing him, but Alistair's heart still leaped into his throat when he set eyes on his son sitting next to the campfire, quietly fiddling with a book in his hands. Kieran looked up at the sound of their arrival. A barely-there smile flitted across his face when he looked at his mother, only to be replaced by tentative curiosity when his attention shifted to him.

"This is Alistair, the Grey Warden who shall be helping us until we reach safer territories," Morrigan said as she stepped around their packs to sit by Kieran's side.

"You were the one in Skyhold too, right?" Kieran asked, eyes sharp with recognition.

"That was me, yes," Alistair replied, forcing himself to step closer and take a seat by the fire too. "Your mother mentioned you might run into Darkspawn on your journeys and I offered to help."

He shot Morrigan a look, who gave an imperceptible nod.

"Alistair will be staying with us until we reach Val Chevin. We should be safe from then on."

"Thank you for helping us, ser," Kieran said politely.

"It's nothing," he said jovially, then nodded toward the boy's book. "What do you have there?"

Kieran frowned down at the pages open in front of him.

"I've been practicing turning into a bird but it's really hard." He looked up, his mood suddenly brightening. "Do you want to see me use magic? Mother has taught me a lot of spells."

"Sure!" Alistair shot Morrigan a questioning look. "If it's safe?" 

Maker, his son was a mage and he had no idea what that entailed beyond what he had been taught during his training as a Templar.

At Morrigan's nod, Kieran extended his hand, a fountain of blue fire flaring up on his open palm, flames and sparks dancing violently in the air before dying away like shooting stars.

"Oh, that's beautiful," Alistair said, staring at the sparkles harmlessly bouncing off of Kieran's arm and shoulder.

He didn't even have to lie, the boy was clearly talented.

Kieran was obviously pleased to have impressed a Grey Warden, looking proudly at Morrigan.

Alistair glanced at her too, their eyes meeting over the fire. He tensed up under the weight of her scrutiny but she didn't seem disapproving.

"Since you are getting along so well, I shall leave you to your talk," she said pointedly and Alistair couldn't tell whether she was being sarcastic or not.

"He's certainly the best company around," he said cheekily.

" _That_ we can agree on," she said and oh, now that was definitely a jab at him. "I have something to take care of."

She grabbed a stack of books off the ground and stood, retiring to her tent.

Kieran looked entirely too suspicious for a twelve year old but he seemed to shrug it off.

"Can you tell me about the Fifth Blight?" he asked, staring up at Alistair. "Mother never tells me anything about it."

Alistair swallowed as he fought down the rise of confusing emotions in his chest. He took a deep breath, his gaze momentarily falling on the Silverite griffon on Kieran's chest, and nodded.

"Sure, what do you want to know?"

***

By the time it got dark, Kieran seemed to have satisfied his curiosity regarding the Wardens and left Alistair alone, occupying himself with his books.

Alistair was staring off into the fire, his frown a dull ache between his eyebrows. 

He hadn't considered that his son living in constant danger of being taken by Flemeth would gnaw at him as much as it did, yet the idea of losing him before he could even get to know him filled him with dread.

"Do not strain your eyes too much."

Alistair blinked, disoriented. He looked over to Morrigan and Kieran on the other side of the fire, surprised to see her brush her fingers through Kieran's hair, more tender than he had ever seen her before.

"Just one more page, mother," Kieran said, a serious frown on his gentle face as he attempted to read his book by the meager light of the fire. 

" _One_ more," Morrigan allowed.

Alistair craned his neck to get a glimpse at the book he was reading now, not surprised to see it had something to do with magic. As fascinated as Alistair himself was with the arcane, he was certain Kieran got his love of musty books from Morrigan.

He watched as she ushered Kieran to bed, the boy reluctant to leave his reading behind. 

As soon as the boy disappeared into his tent with a short 'goodnight', Morrigan surprised Alistair by sitting right beside him. A thin silver ring of light emerged from the ground, surrounding them both, leaving an after-image in Alistair's vision as it quickly faded away.

"What was that?" he asked, blinking. He could feel magic tingling on his tongue but he couldn't figure out what the effects of the spell were.

"'Tis a muting spell," Morrigan replied. "I wanted to have a word with you without Kieran overhearing it." 

"About what?"

Morrigan started putting some dried herbs into the potabove the fire, making what looked like mercifully ordinary tea. She didn't look at him when she started talking.

"I've been wondering about something, if you care to indulge me."

"Is this where you start asking questions that inevitably make me sound stupid?"

"This is where I ask what you would do with Kieran if I were to die."

Alistair opened his mouth to reply but the meaning of her words caught up to him and all he could do was gape like a fish.

"What?"

"I believe I expressed myself clearly," she said and finally leveled an impassive look at him. "There's no place in all of Thedas where he is truly safe. I am merely wondering how _you_ would go about protecting him from Mother."

He watched her carefully. She seemed remarkably apathetic but Alistair could see the cracks in her mask, the unease lurking behind her eyes and the uncertainty in her voice.

"You're afraid," he said instead of answering her question, almost in awe, and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his drawn up knee. "You thought you had things under control but whatever happened at the Well of Sorrows changed that."

"I am not _afraid_ , I am cornered. There are dark times coming, Alistair, and I need to be certain Kieran has a future in this world even if something were to happen to me."

Alistair frowned.

"You never told me what went down at the Well," he said quietly. "And it must have been dire if it made you contact me of all people."

Morrigan tore her eyes away from him, busying herself with the tea.

"I was almost enslaved to mother's will at the Well of Sorrows," she said. "It made me realize that even now I'm not as free of her power as I thought. I do not trust her to leave us alone. Whatever happens, whatever Flemeth or Mythal is planning, Kieran needs to live. Mother can't get her hands on him."

Alistair watched her put another log on the fire with unsteady hands, angry sparks shooting up all around her face, her downcast eyes alight with the trembling flames.

"I take it 'enslaved to her will' would have been really bad news," he said.

"I am... uncertain how the magic binds one to her but if my suspicions are correct, the Well of Sorrows and the voices therein contain the collective knowledge of the High Priests of Mythal that came before me. If I drank from the Well, I might have become Mythal's next High Priest and, upon my death, one of the voices." She hesitated. "And possibly her next vessel."

Alistair felt the leather of his glove creak as he clenched his hand into a fist. He was reminded of Riordan telling them the Archdemon's essence would be drawn into them after the killing blow. A sense of visceral wrongness filled him, his mind rebelling in the face of something so unnatural.

He swallowed and tried for levity.

"So that's why Yavana seemed so jealous of you," he said but his throat felt dry and tight around the words. At her questioning glance, he hurried to explain. "It's a long story but I was looking for my father. I met your sister in Antiva. I... may have killed her."

"If she was fool enough to want Mythal's soul, the world didn't lose much with her death," she said, completely unaffected.

Alistair continued to stare at her, wondering just how awful an upbringing one must endure to be so nonchalant about the death of a sister, even a sister one never knew. Kieran's fate would be grim by Flemeth's side if her daughters were anything to go by.

"So what's next then?" he asked.

"Going to Val Chevin, as we have discussed," she said simply. "The Inquisitor has informed me her agents there have heard rumors about an Eluvian at the port that might be of interest to us."

"That's the mirror, right? How is it connected to your mother?"

She seemed to hesitate. The light of the fire illuminated her body, dancing on her necklace and bracelets, but the shadows surrounding her were deep, ready to swallow her whole if the light went out even for a moment.

"A few weeks ago, I felt a strange presence in my own Eluvian, a fleeting wisp of a thought. It seemed curious about me but as soon as I approached, I felt its desperation, its terrible anger, like vengeance itself washing over me. I shut down the connection between us then and there and my Eluvian went dark. I have made no attempt to use it ever since."

"A demon?" he asked uncertainly.

"That is what I suspected but the more I thought about it, the more familiar the presence seemed. It... it reminded me of Mother."

"Don't tell me she was trying to possess your body..."

She turned away, pulling one of her bags into her lap and hastily undoing the straps holding it closed.

"I do not know. Mother claimed she couldn't do that without my say-so but if I drank from the Well, she could have ordered me to say yes anyway. Kieran could have—"

She cut herself off, rummaging through the contents of the bag and pulling out more herbs. It was disconcerting how upset she seemed to be. Alistair almost wanted to comfort her, except he knew she wouldn't have accepted it from him or anyone else.

"We'll get her," he said with certainty. "In the meantime, try to stay away from any strange mirrors."

Morrigan snorted but Alistair could tell she had the same idea.

Then something occurred to him.

"Wait, doesn't that mean the Inquisitor is in danger? Shouldn't we go directly to her if we want to find your mother?"

Morrigan shook her head.

"I have informed the Inquisitor of my worries. She is adamant that the voices do not influence her decisions but she has asked her most trusted companions to keep an eye on her just in case. Nevertheless I do not believe drinking from the Well is enough to make one Mythal's next vessel. Mother was very exact in my education, carefully preparing me to become her heir."

_'The Inheritor,'_ flashed through Alistair's mind and his throat tightened. Kieran had called her that once in front of him, back in Skyhold when he had still been fond of scaring the wits out of him with cryptic comments and half-words. 

Things had changed since then and so had Kieran. As relieved as Alistair had been that his son no longer shared a body with the soul of an Archdemon, he had been furious to learn Flemeth had come near him; so furious, in fact, that it had spurred him to finalize their current arrangement in the first place.

He couldn't imagine turning his back on them now when he had a chance at doing something for his son.

"Morrigan?" he asked quietly.

"Yes?"

"Why does he wear the Grey Warden insignia?"

She was silent, a contemplative frown appearing between her brows as she poured herself a cup of tea, the pleasant smell of herbs drifting over to Alistair.

"I made the mistake of mentioning his father was a Warden. He has insisted on wearing it ever since."

"And you let him?"

She looked at him with a strange sharpness to her eyes, the firelight flickering on her face.

"Even though he never knew you, even though he barely knew anything about you, you were important to him. I am not so cruel to deny him that just because 'tis a minor annoyance to me to be constantly reminded of your aggravating self."

Alistair couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips even though he was breaking up inside at the thought of Kieran loving his father from afar without the gesture ever being returned. He studied Morrigan's face, waiting for some kind of accusation or castigation he thought he deserved, but she remained silent. He bit his bottom lip, watching the gentle night breeze playing with the wisps of hair around her face.

He cleared his throat, pulling his legs under him to stand.

"I should go set up my tent."

He stood, his boots thudding dully against the moss-covered ground. The light of the fire barely reached him by the time he stopped, turning his head enough to catch a glimpse of her without having to look her in the eyes.

"You are a good mother to him. I won't let him lose you," he said quietly. 

He could feel her gaze on him, her eyes following him into the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

Alistair was watching the golden sunrise above the forest, the gentle light chasing away the chill of the night. Morrigan and Kieran were both still asleep, their tents quiet.

The squawk of a crow sounded from above, several of the birds perching on a nearby tree just above their camp. Alistair had the discomforting suspicion they were following them, cawing loudly. A sleepy huff came from Morrigan's tent, followed by an annoyed grunt. Alistair smiled into his apple and waited for further signs of annoyance.

She stepped out of her tent a few minutes later, drowsily arranging her hair into her usual style as she looked around.

"Not a good morning, I take it?" he asked and bit into his apple.

"How very observant of you," she said and sat heavily by the remains of their fire. "You have truly come a long way since the Blight."

"Your backhanded compliments never fail to warm my heart," he said, tossing what little was left of his apple somewhere into the tall grass.

Morrigan rummaged through her pack, pulling out her own rations. The honey glow of the sunrise ran along her necklace as she ate, catching on the wisps of hair fluttering around her face. Alistair blinked and cleared his throat.

"So, have you ever been to Val Chevin before?" he asked as he was trying to fish out a letter from under his gambeson.

"Once or twice. Why?"

"Just wondering if you know where this inn is," he said and handed her the letter. "One of my Warden contacts is planning to rent a room there. I thought we could stay there too. There are... problems with the Order I need to talk to him about."

"Problems?" she asked absently as she read the short letter.

"Yup. There are rumors the Order is preparing for something that isn't a Blight. The First Warden also asked me some very suspicious questions when we first arrived at Weisshaupt. I pretended to be stupid until he gave up."

Morrigan stared at him with contemplation.

"I cannot believe I ever fell for your act."

"What act?" Alistair asked innocently.

"You like to pretend you are stupider than you actually are."

Alistair smiled.

"And you like to believe you're always the smartest person in the room. I'm here to provide that delusion for you whenever you need."

Morrigan made a derisive sound and turned back to her food but she offered no rebuttal.

It turned out she knew where the inn was, and by the time the sun rose to its zenith, they were close to their destination. The smell of the sea hit them before Val Chevin's spires came into view in the distance. A gust of wind blew dry leaves across the road, the nearby trees swaying and creaking lazily. Alistair lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, gazing toward the sea with a frown. Dark storm clouds were rolling over the water toward the port, the waves crashing against the piers, wrapping them in lace-like foam.

"Let us move before we get caught in the storm," Morrigan said next to him.

They did get caught in the storm, the sudden downpour making looking for the inn just that much more unpleasant. The sky groaned above them, thunder rolling across the rooftops in a lazy, heavy crawl. Alistair pulled the hood of his wool cloak into his eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, at least the rain makes me feel like I'm back in Ferelden," he muttered to himself.

Faint music greeted them as they stepped inside the pleasantly warm inn. Alistair felt the wet weight of his drenched cloak pulling at his shoulders, dripping all over the floor as they made their way up the worn, wooden stairs. They only got a few vaguely interested stares from the Orlesians sitting around the rickety tables before they turned their attention elsewhere.

The innkeeper and who Alistair assumed was his wife both looked wary when he stepped to the counter, eying the griffon crest only half-covered by his cloak.

"Can I help you, Ser Warden?" the innkeeper asked suspiciously. "I wasn't aware we were having issues with darkspawn."

"No, no, I'm in the city for... personal reasons." Alistair motioned at Morrigan and Kieran sitting at the table in the corner. "Can I get a room for the three of us?"

"Oh, of course." The innkeeper turned and reached for a key behind the counter. "I just thought it weird two of you would show up here on the same day."

"Two of us? Two Wardens?"

"Yes. The other one arrived early in the morning and I haven't seen him leave." That must have been Lamorak, his Grey Warden contact. "I'm sorry if I offended you, ser. We aren't used to seeing a lot of soldier-types in the inn, just merchants and travelers."

Alistair smiled, hoping to reassure him.

"And here I thought every inn I visited had bandits lurking under the beds," he joked.

The innkeeper's wife laughed as she rounded the counter to collect a few empty ale mugs from the tables around them.

"No, we try to keep our establishment respectable and turn away shady patrons. We don't want to get into any trouble, you know, their money isn't worth it. A cute family like yours is always welcome, though."

Alistair's mind ground to a halt and his smile froze on his face.

His family.

He turned that thought around in his head. It didn't sound right, not quite, but as he looked back at Kieran explaining something to Morrigan with apparent enthusiasm, he realized it was the closest thing he had.

It was too good a cover to pass up, though.

"Thank you," he said with a self-conscious smile and a nod as the innkeeper handed him the key.

Then he turned around and tried to act like he wasn't running away as quickly as he could.

He walked towards Morrigan's table but he paused when he heard heavy footsteps to his right, the wooden staircase leading to the upper rooms creaking ominously.

"Well, if it isn't the great Alistair himself!" a loud, hoarse voice boomed. "Kill any archdemons lately?"

Alistair grinned to himself and turned.

"Lamorak!" he exclaimed. "I thought you said you would be a day or two late."

"Ship pulled into port sooner than I expected," the other Warden said with a wave of his hand as he climbed down the stairs.

Lamorak was a big man with a big voice and even bigger smiles. He had become Alistair's unofficial second-in-command of sorts on the march to Weisshaupt after Adamant and kept serving as his right-hand man ever since. Alistair had never seen him drunk but there was always a hint of ale about him, clinging to his clothes and long, messy hair.

"How are things at Weisshaupt?" Alistair asked.

"You might be in a bit of a pickle, friend," Lamorak said and glanced over his shoulder at the other occupants of the inn before turning back, his voice lowered. "The First Warden rejected your request to have the Fereldan and Orlesian Wardens start rebuilding. We're to stay in Weisshaupt until further notice."

Alistair's shoulders sagged.

"I'm heading back as soon as I'm done here," he said and motioned towards Morrigan's table. "Shouldn't take longer than a day or two."

Lamorak made an appreciative sound in his throat.

"When you mentioned helping out an old friend, I wasn't picturing someone so alluring."

"Careful, she may be beautiful but she won't hesitate to set you on fire if you look at her wrong."

Lamorak snickered like a school boy.

"So it's like that."

"What?"

"You admit this friend of yours you wanted to help so badly you ran here all the way from the Anderfels is _beautiful_."

Alistair smiled back wrily.

"Only when she's out of earshot. And I may have exaggerated the friend part. We fought together during the Blight. We didn't much like each other. She saved my life, in a way. That's all."

She had also born his child, but the rest of the Order didn't need to know about that.

"If you say so. Need any help with whatever you two are doing?"

Alistair shook his head.

"We'll only be out for a few hours on an errand." He glanced at Kieran amusing himself with the cooling wax pooling around the candle on their table. "Can you help the boy if he gets into trouble while we're away?"

"Sure, he doesn't look like a handful."

"Thanks. I wouldn't want to get you sidetracked."

"As long as _you_ don't get sidetracked," Lamorak said, eyebrows drawn up, chastising.

"I won't," Alistair said, eerily reminded of Wynne for a moment.

"I hope so. I'm on your side, Alistair, but if I have to drag you back to Weisshaupt by your ear because you were too busy elsewhere to do your duty, I will. You know how weird things are getting there. Don't give them an excuse to undermine your authority."

Alistair shifted on his feet uncomfortably.

"I'm no leader," he said.

Lamorak gave him a long look.

"Sooner or later, you'll have to stop running away from it. Let's hope it happens before the others lose respect for you."

Alistair's throat tightened uncomfortably.

"I'll keep that in mind."

They said their goodbyes and Lamorak headed up the stairs towards his own rented room while Alistair made his way back to the table where Morrigan and Kieran were waiting for him.

"At last," Morrigan said.

She looked at him as she stood, her eyes fiery in the light of the trembling candle on the table. Alistair could swear he was still hearing Lamorak snickering in the background.

They made their way up to their room, then decided to wait out the worst of the storm there. Alistair was leaning his shoulder against the wall by the window. The rain thudded against the windowpanes, the only lantern at the inn's entrance swaying in the wind, creaking, creaking, the noise a steady rhythm in the back of his mind.

He couldn't get what Lamorak had said out of his head. He had expected to hand over leadership as soon as they reached Weisshaupt, his seniority no longer relevant when they had the First Warden to command them. He hadn't foreseen the commands to be so appalling, though. They needed to right what went wrong at Adamant, not sit around in Weisshaupt Fortress leaving the south defenseless. He needed to do something. There was no other Warden to step up this time around, no Surana to relieve him of the burden of having others depend on him.

He pushed himself away from the wall with a sigh and decided to go amuse Kieran—that was at least more useful than stewing in his own worries.

"The rain has stopped," Morrigan said some time later and rose from her seat. "Let us get going."

"Can we really leave him alone for hours?" he asked and glanced at Kieran.

"He is twelve years old, not five," Morrigan said as she draped her cloak over her shoulders.

Alistair still couldn't quite squash the nagging worry in his chest so he quickly explained to Kieran exactly how many doors down the corridor he could find another friendly Grey Warden if he felt he needed help. Kieran nodded and calmly informed him that hosting Urthemiel's soul inside him had prepared him for a lot of things. Alistair was less than reassured.

"You think we'll be back by dinner?" he asked Morrigan jokingly to divert his attention from the uncomfortable tension weighting down his stomach.

Morrigan just gave him a flat look and collected her staff from its place by the wall.

"Alright," Alistair said and righted his own cloak. "Let's get you this mirror before you decide to turn into a crow and peck out my eyes."

  


***

  
"Look on the bright side, at least it's not raining anymore."

Morrigan made a noise of exasperation in her throat but didn't even turn around to glare at him. Their latest attempt at asking around at the port had gone nowhere, same as all their previous attempts. The workers at the docks either knew nothing or they weren't willing to sell out the man they were looking for.

Alistair and Morrigan decided to try their luck in the seedy tavern. The place smelled like ale and smoke, though the fiddle music was spirited, setting the mood for the tipsy and drunk people they had to walk past and step over before they got to the counter. A dancing couple almost knocked Alistair off his feet, then laughed and shouted apologies at him as they continued on.

Alistair spotted three heavily armed men eying him from a dark corner just as he and Morrigan got to the counter but they didn't move from their spot so he elected to ignore them. He let Morrigan do the talking, though after she insulted the innkeeper by way of greeting, he kind of wished he hadn't.

"There was an elf who handled something like that," the innkeeper said, annoyed and obviously wishing to be rid of them. "Wouldn't let anyone else near the damn thing."

"Where is he?" Alistair asked.

"Out at sea. Won't be back for a couple of weeks."

Alistair and Morrigan exchanged glances.

"Does he live nearby?" Morrigan asked. "I wish to drop off a letter for him."

The innkeeper pointed at the ceiling.

"Right above this very tavern. He can't afford anything better."

Alistair held his mouth until they stepped out the door before turning to Morrigan.

"A letter, really?" he asked.

Morrigan didn't deign to explain herself to him, only looked around and motioned for him to follow her. They walked around the tavern into a dark alley, then up some ramshackle stairs that seemed to lead up to the rooms above the tavern. Alistair tried not to notice her hips swaying right in front of his face the whole time.

The door that lead to the elf's home was so rickety Alistair probably could have broken it off its hinges with a well-aimed bash of his shield but Morrigan was faster, lifting her staff and weaving some spell that picked apart the door nail by nail, each plank carefully arranging itself on the ground, waiting to be reassembled.

"You may wish to guard the stairs while I search the place," she told him and ducked inside the dark little hovel without waiting for a reply.

Alistair stood there wondering why he had even agreed to following her lead but then he turned around, jogging down the stairs. He leaned against the railing with his arms crossed, trying to act as inconspicuous as possible. He figured he was failing but there weren't people around in the cold at that hour to see it.

That is until three familiar figures ambled out of the shadows a few minutes later, coming towards him. One of them nudged the figure next to him and gestured towards Alistair, twirling a dagger between his fingers all the while. Alistair's shoulders sagged with a resigned sigh.

"That armor looks expensive," the first one called out and motioned with his chin at Alistair's chest. "Grey Warden?"

Alistair looked down, noting the Silverite armor gleaming in the moonlight under his parted cloak.

"Standard issue armor from the order," he said with a shrug. "I didn't have to pay for it. Perks of the job."

"Well, we're going to get a lot of money for it."

Alistair jumped back when three swords swung down at the spot he had been standing at a moment before. He gripped the railing of the staircase with both hands and swung up his legs, kicking two of his attackers in the teeth. They stumbled back, spitting curses; that bought Alistair enough time to unsheathe his sword and unhook his shield from his back, knocking away the third man's blade.

Their swords connected again and again as Alistair advanced on him, relentlessly pushing him back. He didn't seem like a particularly skilled fighter, more strength and aggression than fineness to his movements. Alistair twisted the blade out of the other man's hand, triumph washing over him in a sudden wave—then teeth-grinding pain shot through his side, sending him to his knees with a cry. His sword fell out of his hands, rattling against the cobblestones. He hissed through his teeth, razor-sharp pain slicing through him every time he tried to move.

A boot collided heavily with his injured side and he collapsed. He couldn't even get enough air in his lungs to cry out, his breath halting and desperate. He gritted his teeth, pain and a prickling sensation running through his jaw, and reached for a dagger tucked into his belt. Metal clashed on metal above his head and he snatched his hand away just in time not to get his fingers trampled on my heavy boots in a sudden brawl between the three men.

Alistair peered up at them, surprised by the fight that had apparently broken out between them. A hand grabbed at the back of his armor and made a feeble attempt at pulling him upright.

"Move," Morrigan said above him sternly.

He grasped for his sword and dragged himself up, hobbling after her into the shadows, his teeth clenched tight in pain. He clutched at a wall, leaning against it as he followed her, away from the docks while the three men were still distracted by the curse Morrigan had cast on them.

"Thanks," he said to the back of her head as they made their way onto the street leading to the port.

They only stopped once they were in the better part of town, hiding in a small alleyway between houses. Morrigan leaned back against a wall and pulled out a flask of water, trying to pretend she wasn't out of breath.

She pulled out a stack of papers from under her cloak, then unwrapped the leather sheet they were bundled up in.

"Let me guess, those are pages from some magic book full of the vilest spells imaginable."

"'Tis, in fact, a travel journal," Morrigan said.

"You stole it?" he asked.

"I have not! I copied the pages mentioning a mirror so the elf wouldn't notice anything was amiss upon his return. It appears he was vague on purpose and used elven words to mask key information but I do possess Dalish books that shall help me decipher these pages. Those I did steal."

Alistair gave her an amused side-glance and shook his head.

"You sneaky witch thief," he said, only to bend at the waist with a hiss as his wound reminded him of its presence.

"You are injured," Morrigan commented with a thoughtful look on her face, then took a sip of her water.

"I was already injured, they just made it worse." He groaned, his fingers grasping at his side. "A lot worse."

"Did you forget to take potions with you?"

Alistair shrugged.

"I ran out of them a while back."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance but mercifully didn't comment on his intelligence.

"Let me see," she said as she put her flask and papers down.

"It's not a big deal."

"It shall be if you refuse to treat it."

He sighed but unbuckled his sword belt, sitting down with his back against the wall. He reached for the straps of his chest plate, letting the heavy armor slip to the ground at his side. He parted the blue leather and the padding underneath without taking them off, exposing the bandages around his abdomen.

"See, it didn't even bleed through," he said but his voice was strained.

The bandages came off with little trouble, the now exposed cut stretching across his side and partway across his stomach where his armor wasn't studded with silverite. If it hadn't been for the padding under the leather, the sword could have cut him deep enough to eviscerate him.

The pain melted away as she started working and a relieved sigh slipped past his lips as his shoulders relaxed, his straining muscles finally loosening. Morrigan continued to work in silence, her meager talent for healing only allowing for frustratingly slow work.

He studied her while she worked, her form looming over him. She looked well, a certain ease to her movements that seemed entirely new to him. Time had been kind to her, the two faint lines under her eyes the only mark the past ten years had left behind.

Her catlike yellow eyes met his and he was forced to realize he had been caught staring, just like old times. A self-satisfied smirk pulled at her dark lips before she went back to her work.

"So what has happened in Weisshaupt?" she asked.

"A mess," he said, glad for the diversion. "I'm trying to keep the Wardens that survived Adamant out of trouble but I've never seen so much infighting in the order before."

"You have always idealized them too much."

Alistair chuckled bitterly.

"Not for a while now. I still can't watch the order go down in flames even after everything that has happened. And they did sack me with the job of helping to rebuild it."

"Once every more suitable Warden was killed at Adamant."

"So you've heard about that."

"I thoroughly interrogated the Inquisitor after she had delivered your little message."

Alistair smiled. He still had no idea what had inspired that spur of the moment decision. He had hoped Morrigan would understand the message as a tentative olive branch because he had wished to see them again, at some point, provided he survived long enough.

"I'm touched you cared about my well-being."

She scoffed but offered no denial. Her hand rested warmly on his side, her magic seeping into him between her fingers.

He studied her face, lingering on her downcast eyes. He lowered his voice, the words careful on his tongue.

"I still can't believe you're the mother of my child."

She paused but did not look up.

"This is the first time you have called him that."

Alistair opened his mouth but fell silent. When he spoke again, his tone was serious.

"It was easier to imagine I was leaving a demon spawn behind than to admit I was repeating what my father did to me. I couldn't pretend otherwise after I've seen him."

"I do not resent you for not staying with him. Neither of us wanted that."

"I know. This feels right, though. I thought it'd be more... I don't know, awkward but he's easy to be around. Fun, even."

The simple truth of the matter was that he just... liked spending time with Kieran. Even with his little eccentricities that made the hair stand up on the back of Alistair's skull, he was still looking forward to every day he knew they would meet.

Morrigan searched his gaze, then leaned closer. Alistair found himself holding his breath.

"Kieran really has your eyes," she mused.

He had noticed that before, and yet there was something strange and unexpected about her actually acknowledging it.

"Yeah, I remember being surprised by that," he said. "I thought he would have eyes like yours."

"The less he is like me, the better," she said, sudden sadness flashing across her face. She looked away and stood up. "Let us go. I need much time to decipher the journal and you are to leave early on the morrow."

Alistair nodded reluctantly and tried not to feel too disappointed at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another hurt/comfort scene right after the h/c chapter in The Fool Would Be King? Next time, it's Morrigan's turn to be comforted.
> 
> Also, it took me months to realize but the injury healing scene was probably subconsciously inspired by this fanart:
> 
> https://benmezd.tumblr.com/post/153614357735/donc-desole-random-unfinished-spur-of-the-moment


End file.
